Life's What You Make It

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Life's What You Make It Page 22

by Sian O'Gorman


  ‘Oh my God.’ That was Will, not me. I was too shocked to speak. ‘You mean, someone took your letters? And was able to intercept…’ He shook his head. ‘But who?’

  ‘My Aunt Theresa,’ said Mum. ‘Dad’s older sister. Of course it was. She was the postmistress. The most upstanding woman you could ever meet. Only ever wore navy and would frequently quote from the Bible. I was terrified of her. She did it for Dad and he put all this in the attic, away from Mam. Oh sweet mother of divine Jesus, I can’t believe it.’

  ‘Can you be sure?’ I said, finally finding my voice.

  ‘Yes,’ she said, her voice flat. ‘Yes, I can. And I went to her funeral, like a good niece! Yet she was the one who decided to change the course of my life. The year she died, I think I had some kind of breakdown. Well, not breakdown, that’s too strong, more like… I’d had enough. I knew something was wrong, some wrong had been done, but of course I had no idea what it was and it was driving me mad, the not knowing, my sixth sense screaming. At Theresa’s funeral, people were talking about me and I didn’t know why. Dad’s brother was there as well, and he gave me such a look which I couldn’t read at the time, but now I know it was triumph. I came home and closed the shop for a week. We went to Ballybunion… do you remember?’

  ‘The beach in Kerry. We had two ice creams every day.’

  Mum laughed. ‘And you built the world’s biggest sandcastle. Or one that we thought could easily be the world’s biggest sandcastle.’ She sat heavily in the chair. ‘I think I’m in shock.’

  ‘I’ll get you something,’ said Will, he and Pablo disappearing into the kitchen.

  ‘What are you going to do?’ I asked.

  ‘Read them, I suppose. His letters to me. It changes everything. All these years, I was heartbroken over him. And I should have been heartbroken over my own father and what he and his sister did to me. How could they?’ She met my gaze, her clear blue eyes hurt and confused. ‘I know it was a different time. I know fathers thought they could control their daughters and so many succeeded, but to do this?’ She shook her head again.

  ‘And it’s illegal,’ I said. ‘Tampering with the mail.’

  ‘And I had gone to see Theresa,’ said Mum. ‘Remember? Begged her to tell me if any letters had got lost and she rose to her feet – and she wasn’t tall, but she had a rather powerful energy. Everyone in the village was scared of her. But she rose to her feet and glared at me, breathing fire. “How dare you insinuate such a thing, Nell O’Neill!”’

  ‘What a total witch.’

  Mum nodded. ‘That’s a good way of putting it.’

  Will came back into the room with two glasses of brandy. ‘Here we go, Nell,’ he said. ‘A nice glass of Hennessy if you want one.’

  ‘Thank you, Will,’ she said, taking it and throwing it back like someone doing shots at Mahiki. She closed her eyes for a moment. ‘Thank you. Exactly what I needed,’ she rasped. She took the second glass and sipped it. ‘I don’t know where to start or what to think.’

  ‘Take your time,’ I said. ‘You don’t have to sort it all out now.’

  She nodded. ‘You can read the letters too,’ she offered.

  ‘Maybe.’ I wasn’t sure if I wanted to. They were Mum’s letters to the man she loved. Her privacy had already been so egregiously invaded so shouldn’t they just be hers, and no one else’s? I looked at Will. ‘I can’t believe we’ve brought this family drama to your door.’

  ‘I think the family drama was already here,’ he said. ‘In the attic. I’m just glad the letters have been returned to their owner.’ He smiled at me and I smiled back. He was a tremendously reassuring presence.

  ‘We should go,’ said Mum. ‘We’ve taken up more than enough of your time.’ At the door, she hugged Will. ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘You don’t know what you’ve given me.’

  ‘I’m so glad,’ he said, making sure she had her crutch and she was steady on her feet before letting go again. ‘If you need to come back, let me know. Or for a chat. Or anything.’

  Pablo was standing at Will’s feet and suddenly came up to me and licked my ankle. ‘Pablo?’ I said, as he looked up at me. ‘I think you might have the wrong person.’ But in answer, he just licked me again, as though to prove that he did have the right person. My heart melted.

  ‘Thank you again,’ Mum said. The envelope under one arm, she began to crutch down the path. ‘You’d better drive, Olivia,’ she said to me.

  In the car, as I pulled out of the parking space, giving Will and Pablo a final wave goodbye, she said, ‘I like that young man more and more.’ And then she gave me a look. ‘I’m becoming very fond of him. Very fond indeed.’ But she was crying, as though the shock was passing and now only the hurt remained.

  Now I knew about my father and that he hadn’t abandoned me, I also knew that one day I would try and find out what happened to him. God knows how, though. But he wasn’t actually my priority at the moment. Mum was. Now I realised what she’d been through and how badly she’d been treated.

  ‘Would you like to see him again?’ Mum and I were eating tinned tomato soup and cheese on toast, the kind of meal Mum used to make when she was too tired to cook. It was the ultimate comfort food, but she was barely eating. ‘If he was alive?’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ she said, slowly, pushing her spoon around in the bowl. ‘I’ve had a whole life since then. I was so young. It’s so hard thinking of me, that young girl, and how these grown-ups thought they knew better! And now I’m old… older… and it all seems just so wrong.’

  ‘How could they have done it?’

  Mum shrugged. ‘Easily. People thought nothing of interfering in the lives of others in those days. The whole place was policed by villagers commenting on anyone who seemingly put a foot wrong.’

  ‘But why did you stay in Sandycove?’ I said. ‘Why didn’t you leave… go elsewhere?’

  ‘Ultimately, I didn’t want to live anywhere else. I suppose I was stubborn. And I couldn’t imagine not being by the sea. After Dad died, a year after Mam, and when I moved out of Betty’s parents’ house, I found a flat in the village. I had to walk down the street, knowing everyone knew everything. But I kept walking, you in the pushchair, head held high, and once you do it the first time, you can do it again. And again. And again. And then I was used to it. One day, the landlord – a lovely man – told me that the shop below the flat was for lease and would I consider taking it on. Oh my God.’ Mum’s face lit up for the first time. ‘A clothes shop! I knew exactly what I wanted to do. And we’d shaken on it before I’d thought it through properly, but by that point, I felt kind of bulletproof.’ She smiled at me. ‘I’m so glad I stayed and faced them down.’

  ‘I’m glad too. I love the village as well.’ I paused. ‘When are you going to read the letters?’

  ‘I’ll take my time… one by one, see how I feel. I won’t rush it. My God, it’s like it happened in another world or to someone else.’ She shook her head. ‘It was such a cruel thing to do.’ Mum looked up at me, putting down her soup spoon. ‘I can’t tell you how much I have loved having you home and…’ She paused. ‘Look, correct me if I am wrong, but maybe it’s time to come home, for good? If I am being interfering, just say it.’

  I didn’t say anything.

  ‘It’s just…’ Mum continued, ‘…you don’t look very happy to be returning to London. And life is long and complicated, but it’s never set. Plans change, you can take charge at any moment, you can change at any moment, nothing is ever written in stone, nothing… it’s just…’ She hesitated. ‘You either continue living your life for other people or start living your life for you. I think you might have forgotten that you deserve more. I mean, Jeremy wasn’t quite good enough, if you don’t mind me saying, your job doesn’t seem quite good enough. Is it what you really want…?’

  I didn’t say anything for a moment, Mum looked worried that she’d said too much.

  ‘It’s just that I think you are marvellous,’ she said. ‘I
want you to realise it too.’

  ‘Yes, but it’s not that easy,’ I replied. ‘I’m scared.’

  ‘Of what?’

  ‘The unknown.’

  ‘But every single person who has ever lived is scared of the unknown,’ said Mum. ‘You’ve got to get comfortable with the feeling of fear. What do you think makes for a more interesting and a more satisfying life? It’s the things that go wrong, it’s the taking a chance, it’s the unknown.’

  ‘But I had my chance,’ I said. ‘And I blew it. I failed and shut it all down. Looking back now, I should have persevered, but I was too young to really manage it all. Too inexperienced.’

  ‘I could have helped,’ Mum said. ‘I could have given you advice. We could have done it together.’

  ‘Yes, but…’ I looked away. ‘I wanted to do it on my own. And…’

  ‘And what?’

  ‘And I always felt a little annoyed that you hadn’t told me about… Joseph Delaney.’ I could feel the locket against my throat, the reassuring presence of my grandmother. ‘It was stupid of me.’

  ‘Not stupid,’ said Mum. ‘Understandable.’

  ‘Now I know, though.’

  ‘Now you know.’ She reached for my hand and squeezed it. ‘Sorry again.’

  ‘Me too.’

  ‘But mistakes can be rectified. You can learn from them. It’s like cutting all your hair off…’

  ‘I was sixteen!’

  ‘And you cried for four days. But it grew back… and what did you learn?’

  ‘Never trust people who say short hair would suit my face? It doesn’t.’

  ‘Exactly. Lesson learned and you moved on…’

  ‘And grew my hair. Is this analogy really working?’

  Mum laughed. ‘My point is, mistakes happen, but they shouldn’t make us scared. They should be empowering.’

  ‘I know what you mean. I’ll bear it in mind.’

  When I was clearing away our plates, Mum picked up her phone. ‘I have to call Henry,’ she said. ‘He’ll be dying to know what happened. He won’t believe it.’

  ‘You don’t wish that things had been different?’ I said. ‘That Joseph had got your letters and you had got his…?’

  Mum shook her head. ‘No, not really. Because my life is this one, everything that happened. I kind of like the way my life turned out in the end. You, the shop, my friends, living in Sandycove… Henry. I wouldn’t change a thing.’

  27

  Roberto: Am attempting a tagline today.

  Me: TAGLINE?

  Roberto: Stupid eejit autocorrect! I mean TAGINE! Lamb and apricot. Doing meringue for dessert. Strawberries and cream topping.

  Me: OMG. Sounds incredible. Is this still Mary Berry’s influence?

  Roberto: Absolutely. She’s my new muse. Maybe I could be Miss Berry? Do you think that might be good?

  Me: Stick to Miss Minogue. Let me know how the hotpot and dumplings go.

  Roberto: Love you Liv.

  Me: Love you Miss Berry.

  The next morning, I didn’t go on my run, because instead, Mum and I went to visit Gran’s grave. She heard me moving around in my room and knocked on my door. ‘I think we should go,’ she said. ‘Tell her we love her and that we know none of this is her fault.’

  I drove Mum’s car to the cemetery. It was only 8 a.m. and yet there were other people, just like us, walking along the central path, beside the yew trees, to find the resting place of the person they loved.

  Gran’s grave was towards the back of the plot. A rectangle of earth, a headstone. ‘In loving memory,’ I read. ‘Eleanor O’Neill, much loved.’

  Below her was:

  Thomas O’Neill, beloved husband and father

  Mum was on her knees with the trowel, digging up the primulas which were dead and quickly planting some lobelia. ‘I try to ring the changes, florally,’ said Mum. ‘In the spring, it’s always daffodils. Summer… whatever looks nice.’

  ‘Do you feel anything?’ I asked. ‘Her ghost?’

  ‘If I felt anything, I felt it in the house,’ she said. ‘But not here. I just come here to make it look nice.’ She stood beside me. ‘Oh, Mam,’ she said. ‘Mam, I love you. I miss you. I wish you were with us now. We’d have a laugh, the three of us.’

  ‘You could give her a mini bottle of wine.’

  ‘I could,’ she said. ‘And we could listen to Frankie Valli and sing along. She was a lovely woman, was Mam. Too good for this world. When I think of Auntie Theresa living until she was ninety-two, it makes me furious.’

  ‘Where is Auntie Theresa buried?’

  ‘Oh, over there somewhere. She’s got her own angel statue. All paid for by the General Post Office.’ She nudged me. ‘Go on, say something.’

  I didn’t know what to say. ‘Like what?’

  ‘Like hello or something. You can’t come to a grave without saying something. That’s the whole point.’

  ‘Hello, Gran,’ I said. ‘I wish you were still around. I wish you were around for me, but more than anything I wish you were around for Mum. She really, really loves you. I think you made a great team, the two of you. We miss you.’

  Mum nodded. ‘We would have made a great team,’ she said, ‘the three of us. We would all have got on well. Same sense of humour.’

  I held my locket. ‘I’ll come back and see you again,’ I said. ‘And I’ll bring some flowers. I am thinking of roses and dahlias and peonies.’

  ‘She’d love that,’ said Mum. ‘Mam always did have notions.’ She linked her arm in mine. ‘Shall we go back? I’ll drop you at the shop. And you must be busy with the festival? Only two days to go?’

  ‘I’m feeling nervous now,’ I said. ‘Just praying for no rain.’

  All week, Jessica had acted as though nothing had happened. I had hoped she might see me as someone to confide in, and then, perhaps, she might take action. Now I knew a little, I didn’t want to be shut out. Was Damien managing to control himself? Was Jessica safe? Had anything else happened? But I didn’t like to bring it up, I just hoped that she might talk to me if she needed to. But by Thursday, I cracked.

  ‘So, everything all right at home?’ I asked.

  ‘Fine!’ Jessica replied, her eyes slightly glazed, her smile wide, as though there was nothing that could possibly be wrong.

  ‘How are the kids?’ I kept going.

  ‘They are great,’ she said. ‘Both practising for the festival. It’s only two sleeps. Frankie has asked Mam to make him his fairy costume for his ballet performance. Miss Rachel said he could be a wood nymph and he wasn’t having any of it. “But I’m a fairy!” he said.’ Jessica laughed. ‘He was so cross at the thought of being a wood nymph. He said, “What’s a nymph? It doesn’t sound like a real word!” I’ve told him it’s more like a forest ninja and he seemed happy with that. And good news, Shirley’s out of hospital. I met Cara yesterday and she says she’s finished her exams and is ready to work in the shop whenever your mum needs her.’

  ‘That’s great,’ I said, but tried again. ‘And how’s Damien?’ I asked. ‘Is he… is he well?’

  ‘Never better,’ she said, still smiling. ‘He’s cranked up the whole health regime another notch. Not only are his gym sessions longer, but he’s also taken up boxing and is even eating egg-white omelettes for breakfast. There’s me and the kids with our Rice Crispies, and he’s whipping up egg whites.’

  I wasn’t quite sure what to say in response. ‘Jess…’ I began.

  She sighed, as though giving in. ‘He’s trying to be better,’ she said, quietly. ‘Says he’s going to try anger management.’ Her shrug was so helpless, as though she didn’t know what to believe any more. ‘But thanks for asking,’ she said. ‘I appreciate it. I really do.’ She held my gaze for a moment too long and I thought she was going to say something else. But she didn’t.

  After lunch, my phone rang. It was a London number.

  ‘Is that Olivia O’Neill? Valerie here, HR Manager. I’m calling about a few things
at the office.’

  My heart sank. Oh God, I thought. They needed me back sooner than I had planned. And I really wasn’t ready. The thought of being back in London, working in that job, commuting on the Tube, dreading bumping into Jeremy in one of the million Starbucks. I knew I wanted to stay here for as long as I could.

  ‘I presume you’ve heard,’ she went on. ‘Did the ex-husband call you?’

  What was she talking about?

  ‘Valerie,’ I said. ‘Do you have the right number? This is Olivia O’Neill. I’m in Ireland.’

  ‘Yes, Olivia,’ she said. ‘I’m calling about Maribelle.’ She paused. ‘So, you haven’t heard?’

  ‘Heard what?’

  ‘She’s left the company. Resigned. And she’s left the UK. We only found out last night. She called from Athens and left a message on Mr Cox’s private phone. A rather rambling message to all accounts. And expletive-laden. Apparently, and I hope I am not breaking confidentiality agreements, she wants to live in Cornwall and grow vegetables. Don’t we all? Anyway, Maribelle told Mr Cox that he could… I can’t use the language exactly, but she told him he could “eff” his company and she was “effing off” to St Austell.’

  ‘Wow.’ Good for her, I thought, feeling strangely proud. She had escaped, maybe the good life in Cornwall was exactly what she needed.

  ‘It’s one way to resign, I suppose,’ said Valerie. ‘And we do receive quite the variety. I once had a man who put all his furniture in a pile, the sofa on the table, the filing cabinet, the chair, a bad reproduction of Monet’s Water Lilies and even the wastepaper basket all on top of each other and walked out. Another man wrote his resignation letter in crayon. And someone else employed a mime artist to mime how he felt about the company. Corporate life does tend to take a mental toll and people do like to make an exit that reflects their emotional state. It’s almost like performance art.’

  ‘Was Maribelle okay?’ I asked. ‘Did rehab work?’

 

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